Set upon and duct taped

like a fraternity pledge

or an Iraqi detainee

I gritted my teeth

against the floor

of the dining car

and shouted my name:

I am Captain Alex Limkin!

I am still operational!

 

I gave up my date of birth,

my service number,

and all the names

of the men I served with

over the years

starting with Private Ferguson

and ending with

Colonel Westhusing

director of my last unit:

MNSTC-I/CPATT/CTSO.

 

They could not crush

all the air from my lungs

no matter how many

they numbered.

They could not crush all the air

from my lungs no matter

how many bodies

pressed down upon me,

no matter how much

they ground me

into the floor of the dining car

and told me I was

among friends.

 

Stripped naked

set upon and duct taped

like a fraternity pledge

or an Abu Ghraib detainee

I continued to shout my name:

I am Captain Alex Limkin!

I am still operational!

I am still operational!

I am still operational!

 

A handful of deputies

met the train in Gallup.

 

Two of them maneuvered me

down the stairwell

of the dining car

which had long stopped

serving food.

 

Did I imagine the sea of faces

peering out uneasily

from the windows of the train

at the shackled man

carried out like a casualty

by the shoulders and feet

naked and brown as the earth,

naked and brown as the earth itself?

 

At the hospital came the needles

and the catheter.

Three different drugs to return me

to sanity.

 

They said it took

three horse tranquilizers

and a psychotic

to put me down.